A Spot of Paint
by DarkestWolfx
Summary: Speaking of paint… Thunderbird Two was supposed to be green, after all. Just a small (and late) tag to 'Inferno'. Spoilers for those who haven't yet seen it.


Just a really small piece. Enjoy.

* * *

"John…" It was a very familiar whine. When no answer came, the sound finally draw itself to a close, changing to cored speech with intent. "Help me!"

His face shifted into a wry smile, the detail clear even over the holo-system, "You're on your own with this one, little brother."

"But you gave us the mission."

"But you were flying Two."

"The fire wasn't my fault." Alan should have learnt by now that he always had a perfect counter argument for everything.

"I never said it was, however that argument is null and void, because nor was it mine."

* * *

" _John_ …"

It was nothing new. He didn't know why the younger had yet to give the technique up. It never worked, well, not anymore – it was different when the kid was under the age of ten with a whole fleet of grown up brothers to grab onto the legs of, refusing to let go until he succeeded. That was entirely different. Now, it was just an outdated technique he wasn't going to give into.

"Alan, whining won't work."

"Please." He was not going to set foot on the Island after this rescue, and Alan was a fool if he remotely thought there was a chance of it happening. He almost felt like a prophet: he could see how this was going to end. It was inevitable.

"No."

"But, if _you_ could just _talk_ to _Virgil_."

"Talk to Virgil?" What the blonde was imagining that would achieve he had no clue.

The excitement had suddenly risen wildly in the youngest's voice though, like he'd ignored the punctuation and tone of that whole sentence. "Yes!"

He sighed. Things could get so repetitive with younger brothers, not that he'd change it for the world.

"Alan, I wasn't saying that as a remote possibility. I was saying that in disbelief that you want me to even attempt it."

"You could talk him round." He hoped Alan would forgive him for audibly scoffing, yet for once he just couldn't hold it back. There would be no talking Virgil round until the problem had been solved at the root. Grief, the journey home had been a nightmare to get a word in edge ways. Virgil had always been strong-willed (another one of those Tracy family mandatory inheritance genes), but when it came to Thunderbird Two, he was fiercely protective and became wildly intense. None of that had been skipped from what he'd heard. So no, he wasn't going to even risk putting a word in.

"Until Thunderbird Two is completely green again, I don't think anyone could talk him round." Alan groaned, a long, hard and almost painful sounding noise. He asked out of interest, hopeful kindness, but he could imagine how Alan would take it. "How's that going?"

"I'm working on my own, so how do you think?" The cocked eyebrow, tilted head, it was all completely visible from the sound alone. The holo-communication system just added a bonus of fun to the situation.

"Scott should be home with Gordon in a couple of hours." He almost chuckled, but managed to hold that in on the end at least. It was a good thing that EOS was actually following her instructions and staying out of the way of the conversation – it might only inflame things if Alan thought even Thunderbird Five's resident AI had the better handle of the situation. Alan's face shifted into a pout, a huff, and his hands fell to his sides. He was certain a paintbrush also slipped from his grip.

"Great. Let them know I'll see them next century."

"Exaggeration." He answered flatly, quickly. And all of that was shown back in Alan's reply.

"You think?"

* * *

He almost didn't want to try calling again. Five hours was probably long enough to re-paint Thunderbird Two. Or at least, he hoped it was. He'd just had a very interesting conversation with another brother, after all.

" _How's Alan doing?"_

" _You could call him?"_

" _I can't speak to him. He'll think he can stop working."_

" _I don't think he would."_

" _Trust me John, he's getting nothing out of me until my bird is back in working order."_

He could just hope the blonde had fulfilled that.

"Alan."

"Oh, back at last. When I've just about finished. Some brother you are."

"Scott and Gordon are home."

"Great."

"And if you're done you can join them."

"I'm afraid to be 'done' John, because the bad news will always be that Virge will find a black spot."

He hummed as he thought for a moment.

"I'm sure he won't." Alan simply tilted his head and that was enough for him. "Alright, show me."

"You'll pay attention? Serious attention to detail here I mean."

"As though Two was Five." He made the promise and he kept it, even when Alan sighed at knowing he'd found at least three patchy places. The youngest's shoulders sagged, his energy falling with it, even though he'd assured the blonde Virgil wouldn't be _that_ bothered now some time had passed. Eventually Alan seemed to return to having some bones in his body, even though his voice was still a strained grumble.

"At least tell me some good news."

"Like?" He queried. He had no idea any more what counted as good in the youngest Tracy's books.

"Has Virgil finished my portrait?"

That was just prime material. He heard EOS chuckle – she still didn't quite get the concept of portraits or art in itself and he could help chuckle too mentally. He had the perfect comment to add to this situation. "Oh… so that's why you were posing."

"Yes. Why? What did you think I was doing?" He smiled and at that, he knew it became obvious to Alan that he was merely toying with him now. "B _rilliant_."

"You're welcome." It was jovial, so he knew Alan wasn't holding anything against him. In light of that, he turned to the youngest's previous question which he'd left unanswered for too long if he wanted to avoid Alan exploding. "And I believe he has, yes."

The pale face brightened in a second, blue eyes sparkling, "Have you seen it?"

He smiled, trying to stop the corners of his mouth from turning too high and giving it away. He'd certainly heard everything he needed to avoid letting the blonde onto. It wouldn't bode well, and would definitely take half the fun out of the situation. Even though he was certain the remaining half was soon to be filled with something else entirely. "I'm certainly going to ask to have a copy."

"You could come down and see the real thing."

He let a moment pass. He could, if he wanted to risk life and limb – which ideally he'd avoid unless International Rescue were called to action. He'd certainly see it on Earth land when the territory was safer, but for now, he was happier here. He shrugged, trying to make the extended pause look a little more natural, "I think I'll stay up here. You know, out of the storm."

Alan suddenly looked the epitome of confused, "I didn't know there was a storm coming."

* * *

The youngest made for the living room regardless, still in messy clothes with paint splodges galore, and it was then he knew there'd be more than a simple 'blow over' storm.

The blonde's face was shocked to the bone, mouth hanging lose and eyes wide. Gordon was sticking clear of his only blonde brother, chuckling away concealed behind his hand. Virgil and Scott were more open with their laughter – or at least, the eldest for certain as the middle child still stood slightly perplexed, even with the extra time he'd had to try and decipher exactly _what_ had occurred in his absence.

"You painted me with a moustache!"

"I told you, I didn't paint that."

"Are you sure you didn't hit your head in that building?" Whilst Alan was already spiralling, Virgil had been keeping some kind of cool, but it seemed now everything was knocking up a gear as the usually level headed artist began to speedily lose his calm.

"Yes! I didn't paint it!"

"Well then, how comes it's in the painting?"

"That's a fair point." Gordon piped in before sidestepping out of reach. It was a gradual move he was making out of the way of harm. It seemed at least someone was catching on.

"Why didn't you take it out?"

"It's not like I have an eraser."

"Paint over it!" The youngest was almost screaming through his vocals now, the middle child making all attempts to match his energy, though keep his volume down and tone softer, yet still just as much in the battle of words as Alan's harsher tongue.

"I was going to, but-"

"But we actually thought it looked quite good." Scott finished, standing quite merrily beside Virgil as though nothing was out of the ordinary. It could only have been worse if the art style had been _ancient_. The youngest glared daggers to the eldest.

"I suppose you think this is funny."

"Well…"

"Unintentionally." Virgil added, and there and then, it was likely the only thing saving Scott's skin from being roasted.

What came next was the simplest of declarations, "I hate it."

One which everyone could tell hadn't required an answer – or at least, you'd think they could. John could certainly tell that as he observed ever quietly from the background.

"I don't know Alan. I think it quite suits you."

But as the youngest's eyes turned to comic representations of daggers, the red head finally spoke up, "Scott, be a smart man, say _nothing_."

"He could have a point, Scott."

"You're one to talk, Virge! You painted the thing."

The elder of the blonde threw himself down onto the far sofa, finally deeming himself as safely out of the way, holding his hands up in the air innocently. "I'm staying out of this."

"Wise Gordon."

"I'm just following your lead, big brother." The swimmer answered the spaceman, reclining back. He looked the picture of content. This probably made for quite good entertainment for the resident trickster after all. It would definitely turn into blackmail material if the opportunity arose, the situation just right. And likely – from the way the conversation was turning – Gordon would have enough to fill his boots at least twice over.

Oh, and wait until Virgil saw Thunderbird Two's new (streaky and patchy) paint job. At least Alan could fall back on the 'want something done well, do it yourself excuse', although the red head doubted it would work once they were all riled up.

Alan blinked again, his eyes seeming to train in on something else now, things he'd missed when the blue orbs had zoned in on the black line across his face.

"Hold on, I don't have… are those meant to be freckles." Scott shouldn't be chuckling again here, but the way Virgil was biting his lip warned he was trying to avoid doing the same – and John could tell these features were down to their resident Picasso. "And what have you done with my hair? And my eyebrows? You've made me look like a comic book character!"

Then, it hit. Finally came the storm John had predicted, one which would end in Virgil needing more paints and leave the brothers with a large cleaning job. EOS quite enjoyed watching it through the holo-communications system, knowing it could do nothing to her and John. The look on Gordon's face was priceless as he moved his eyes to follow the relevant speaker, holding up a pillow to shield his face whenever the colours were thrown. Alan was in an inconsolable rage for the most part from Scott and Virgil's light teasing; all the while, Virgil was adamant he didn't change the painting and Scott was ever risking greater bodily harm by trying to copy Alan's earlier poses.

After the great things they do, the risks they take through fire and up high, falling and almost cracking bones, this was what it came down to at the end of the day.

Children at heart and their childish antics, something which could never be harmful. Unless of course it resulted in Grandma ordering cleaning… that, could hurt. But it did make for amusing conversation at least.

But this was them, the Tracy family, day in day out. International Rescue held the adults, but the Island, their home, that still held the ability to be free, to unleash the inner child.

And never did it fail.


End file.
